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I got better. People liked my work. Or so they told me. I got better still.
I was still listening harder. Not more deeply.
I got my first criticism. I got my first rejection.
I grew afraid.
Don't we all grow afraid? I was afraid that it wasn't good enough.
I was afraid that that was all there was.
I was afraid to write.
I stepped away from the computer and tended my garden for awhile. It sang sweet songs, simple songs to me. I listened deeply. And the tears fell out of the pockets of my eyes. I felt the wind touch my cheek and then I sang. I sang back to the trees and the ground and to the buds in the morning dew.
copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2013